The Tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna
by KohakuWolf
Summary: The serpent fell for the beast, not knowing that love was the spark that would ignite the tinder of rebellion. The untold story of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.
1. The Gilded Feast

**Author's Note: This story is told heavily from the point of view of Rhaegar Targaryen and will span from the Tourney at Harrenhal to the conclusion of Robert's Rebellion. This is my take on the fateful tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna. The first chapter serves mostly as an introduction, the subsequent chapters will be longer. All characters are property of George R. R. Martin. As always, reviews are much loved and appreciated!**

Chapter 1- The Gilded Feast

On the night of celebration before the Tourney at Harrenhal, Rhaegar Targaryen sat in a velveteen chair and played a haunting song for all of the high-borns present at the feast. He strummed each harp string with firmness and tenderness in equal measures. His long fingers wove about in the belly of his instrument, and it bore forth lovely and aching notes as if in ecstasy from his touch.

The strands of the harp felt natural to his hands, as natural as the weathered books and grand swords which he had also known intimately since youth. He had not prepared this composition prior to the feast, so the melody spilled forth freely like water from a chalice and reflected the prince's own feelings.

It sounded sad.

Rhaegar's heart bore pain like wine bears age. His sorrows had made him loving, his hardships wise_. _The dragon prince did not shy away from the sorrowful tune, but rather indulged in it with each stroke of the instrument. His fingers churned beautifully on their own accord, allowing his thoughts to pass to the troubles that burdened him.

The Tourney of Harrenhal was a joyous event to the common lords and ladies, but to the prince it served as a dreadful opportunity.

Rhaegar had too long watched the sanity of his father deteriorate before his eyes. He was sick, ailed with a madness that only worsened as time passed. An ill dragon alone would be a threat to all, but an ill dragon with seven kingdoms in its claws would be catastrophic to the people of the realm.

The tourney was an opportunity for Rhaegar to act. He had turned a blind eye towards the senseless cruelty of Aerys for a dangerous length of time, but now was the chance to voice his plans with the noble lords in attendance.

He meant to unseat his father from the throne.

The music dipped into an agonizing lament as Rhaegar thought of this intention. He felt like a traitor, regardless of the virtue of his reasons, and the idea of calling a council to pry the king from his rightful place filled him with remorse. The tourney provided him with an excellent cover- all those of great influence had already gathered without his summons, gracing him with a chance to reveal his machinations without the fear of tarnishing his name.

'What a beautiful lie my life has become,' he pondered. 'Here I sit in a gilded hall that hides my treason, playing a gilded song that disguises my grief.'

Rhaegar coaxed the quivering strings to rest and the rhythm dissolved into silence.

Sincere applause echoed in the hall, and many of the maidens hastened to dry their eyes. His music oft moved the gentle hearts of women who listened to him perform. His dark lilac eyes combed over all those in the hall and stopped on the face of one of the many teary eyed women.

She had thick dark hair which fell in spirals to the small of her back. Her skin was pale as milk glass and her lips were shaded deep red from the wine, making her face a gourmet of snow and scarlet. Her expression was awash with awe and her eyes ripe from weeping, and though the prince sat too far away to determine the color of those eyes, he could see the wetness of the tears beading upon her cheeks like splintered diamonds.

What drew and kept his attention to this particular girl was unknown to him. Perhaps it was that she alone did not move to bat away her tears; rather, she let them manifest plainly in testament to the depths of her emotions. There was something about that which comforted Rhaegar in the midst of the falsehood that enveloped him like a cloud of soot. This girl was genuine.

She reminded him of wildfire. She was burning, incandescent, teeming with such color and life that the prince half expected the tears caking her cheeks to evaporate from her light. It was said that the Targaryens were all mad for fire, and the prince found himself nearly hypnotized by this salamander of a woman.

The prince was still fixated on her when the boy beside her, likely her brother, jabbed her in the side with his elbow, mimicking gestures of crying in playful mockery. Without warning, the girl seized her goblet of wine and dumped it defiantly onto the boy's head. Rhaegar saw him open his mouth to cry in protest, but whatever sound he made was drowned out by the ringing applause.

The silver-haired prince could scarcely withhold the amused grin that threatened to crack onto his face. What a brazen girl! The poor boy sat dejectedly with wine spattered on the shoulders of his garb while the dark-haired maiden lapped up her tears with her tongue. The applause dwindled just as the girl smeared the dampened hair of the boy with her hand and unleashed a laugh that dripped embers.

This girl was not only genuine but unbridled, and unabashed at feeling things so deeply that it lit her from within, making her cheeks shine like marmalade lanterns. The prince was surprised at how just watching her had lifted his spirits. She was refreshment made flesh.

It wasn't until Rhaegar had returned to his seat beside the king that he realized she was also a raving beauty.


	2. The Knight of the Laughing Tree

Chapter 2- The Knight of the Laughing Tree

It was late on the second day of the tournament when the mystery knight appeared. He wore a breastplate so loose it clattered like a bag of bones as he trotted by on his horse. His helm sat askew on his head, and all other pieces of his armor were mismatched and ill-fitting. The shield he carried was blazoned with the image of a weirwood, white-barked with a dollop of red on its laughing face.

The dragon prince was astride his horse when the mystery knight dipped his lance before King Aerys. He saw his father's lip twist from where he sat- a marked sign of distrust.

Rhaegar himself was no less intrigued by the unnamed rider. He watched the masked knight ride to the end of the lists and marveled at his horsemanship. Despite what his poor excuse for armor would suggest, he rode brilliantly. Once the knight had reached the pavilion, he struck the names of the champions he wished to challenge- Blount, Haigh, and Frey.

"Curious assortment," Rhaegar mused. Nonetheless, he watched each match eagerly.

The mystery knight unseated the Blount rider first, next the one from House Haigh, and lastly the Frey knight. Whomever he was, despite his small stature, he wielded the lance with skill nearly equal to his riding ability. The crowd cheered lustily for the knight with the tree shield, the new champion to replace contenders not greatly loved by the commoners present. Rhaegar saw the defeated knights approach the mystery rider, speaking of ransoming horses and armor. The knight held up his hand in refusal.

"Teach your squires honor," the knight declared in a thundering voice, half garbled by the helm. "That shall be ransom enough!"

The prince watched nearly baffled as the riders all began to scold and chasten their squires, and soon their horses and armor were returned to them. Rhaegar soon realized that the mystery knight was nowhere to be seen- he had used the distraction as an opportunity to ride off.

'What sort of man refuses rewards for the sake of honor?' he wondered. Such a thing was foreign to him. The prince was no stranger to tournaments, but was unfamiliar with modest competitors.

For one whose identity was undisclosed, the knight caused quite an uproar at the castle that night.

"I'll unmask him, the bloody Knight of the Laughing Tree!" Robert Baratheon roared, his cheeks polished purple. "I swear it by all the wine and tits in the world!" He laughed drunkenly as he threw back his head to drain another cup.

"If you don't, I will," Ser Richard Lonmouth vowed. "I'd like nothing more than the honor of ridding him of that hideous helmet for myself."

Rhaegar observed the flock of knights, bemused at how one unknown man had managed to ruffle all of their feathers with naught but a closed helm and a lance.

The king stood, and with a feverish voice shouted, "All you lot should challenge him! This Knight of the Laughing Tree is no friend of mine. Bring him down, bring him down!" Jolly cheers sounded, the men in the hall mistaking the king's maddened fear for encouragement.

The anticipation from the evening had not faded by morning. The knights gathered with obvious excitement, all anxious to see who would be the one to unmask the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as he had officially become known.

But once Aerys was seated and the heralds' trumpets blared, only two champions appeared on the field.

The throngs of people all murmured with disappointment, not so loudly as the incensed knights who raved to one another, many of whom had planned to challenge the mystery knight.

However, not one man present was as furious as the king himself.

After the competition had ended, Aerys summoned Rhaegar to him. The prince knew all too well what would be demanded of him long before he knelt before his father.

"Find him, Rhaegar!" Aerys spat. "Find that damned tree knight and bring him to me! I want him whole and unspoiled. A dragon doesn't pick at its prey- it devours it whole."

The prince regarded his father coolly. "What do you wish to do with the Knight of the Laughing Tree, your grace?"

As Aerys considered, Rhaegar predicted his response. 'Burn him,' he thought. 'That is always the answer- burn everything.'

"First I'll pluck the helmet from his head," the king declared, "and then perhaps the foe will taste dragon fire."

Aerys spoke of fire as if it was a plate of orange and lemon meringue- savory, sweet, and begging for consumption. 'He thinks the knight is a foe,' Rhaegar conceived with perfected numbness. 'Father... always so distrusting, presuming every man a threat to his reign.' The prince knew that Aerys must suspect him as well, despite his kinship. For once, his father actually had good reason to be paranoid.

The king dismissed him, and Rhaegar bowed his head low so that his chin touched his breast. He departed to his chamber, donned his glistening onyx armor, and prepared to hunt the nameless man his father so greatly feared.

The prince had been riding for an impressive length of time when he at last came upon the fled knight, perched by a tree far off in a clearing. The incriminating laughing shield hung boldly from a low branch, and the knight, still fully clad in the ridiculous armor, sprung to his feet as Rhaegar's horse galloped towards him.

Rhaegar dismounted, approaching the knight with practiced grace. The masked man did not attempt to run; he held his ground before the dark dragon prince.

"My father, King Aerys II, has charged me with recovering you," Rhaegar said at once. "Come, remove your helm."

The Knight of the Laughing Tree did not move, nor did he speak. Rhaegar had dreaded that the knight would resist his authority. The prince was reluctant to try to bring him back to Harrenhal by force. This warrior had more than proven that he was a formidable opponent, one who would surely put up a sound fight. Rhaegar decided to try a different approach.

"Your absence has created some unrest among your competitors, who expected your presence this morning. You fought well and justly. Why not return and claim recognition for your success?"

Still, the knight did not stir. Rhaegar's patience was abating rapidly. "Are you so craven?" he asked coldly.

At this, the knight furiously ripped off the ill-fitting helm. Long coils of matted dark hair spilled out, framing a long and beautiful face- a woman's face.

_Her_ face.

"I am no craven," the young woman snarled. "I am Lyanna Stark, champion over the Houses Haigh and Blount and Frey, defender of honor and protector of the scorned."

Rhaegar could scarcely process her words at first. There she stood, the wildfire girl from the feast; full woman, full knight, luminary and gushing with magnificence. The memory of her feisty tears had pirouetted around the prince's mind ceaselessly since his performance, but he hadn't truly expected to see her again- much less in a suit of make-shift armor.

"Why did you retreat, my lady?" he asked her, keeping his voice gentle. "Was it because you are a woman?"

"Not because I am a woman," she said, "but because I am a woman in a world where women are put aside and thought of as weak." Her grey eyes wrought iron upon the prince. "Or _craven_."

"Why did you fight only to flee then, if you wished to prove the strength of the fairer sex?"

"That is not why I fought," she scoffed. "Proving that I can wield a lance would accomplish nothing. It would only serve to mortify my lord father. I fought for a crannogman whom three of the squire boys disgraced themselves in attacking. I donned armor in the stead of this man to put the boys in their place, in the only way that other men would recognize."

'Honor,' Rhaegar thought warmly. 'A girl of honor.' From his brief impression at the feast, he had imagined her to be some sort of passionate hellion; dauntless, but far removed from notions of chivalry. He was not surprised at her courage, but the compassion behind her bravery was what stirred him.

"I know you, my lady," Rhaegar told her. "I saw you at the feast."

For the first time, Lyanna faltered in her guise of perfect confidence. "_You_ remember _me_?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes, very well," he said. "You wept at my song."

Her milky cheeks flushed red in a most pleasing combination of embarrassment and anger. "I did _not_ weep," she sputtered out weakly. "I merely... succeeded in moistening the meat with my tears."

A laugh erupted from Rhaegar's lips. The girl flinched, almost as surprised by this outburst as the prince himself. He tried to stop his laughter, only to find that he couldn't contain it which made him laugh all the more. The prince couldn't recall the last time he had laughed so heavily and with such merriment; the very sound itself was alien to his ears.

"I... I apologize," he said at last when he had regained his breath. He expected the Stark girl to be even more cross with him, but saw instead that she wore a grin upon her coral-stained lips.

"It improved the taste," she trilled. "Made the food more tender." She smiled at him fully, and Rhaegar wondered at how quickly she had gone from chastising to jesting with him.

"I suppose I might thank you, my prince, for playing something so pretty." Lyanna Stark peered up at him. Her eyes were rhinestones, but her gaze was as gentle as wheat. Her dewy face glowed warmly as if her collarbones were two wax candles lit beneath her throat.

Rhaegar had taken note of her fairness at the feast, but seeing her at such close range improved her looks tenfold. She was like a small wicker flame that had been taken from the sunlight and placed in a dark room; her beauty burned all the brighter now that he saw her standing alone before him.

"I appreciate your gratitude," he said. "Although not as much as I appreciated your tears."

Her mouth curled slightly, and he knew that he had pricked her again. Rhaegar had grown accustomed to fastidious company, and so a lady as impassioned as this Stark maiden filled his heart with a richness he had never imagined. He did not believe that his music merited praise from a woman like Lyanna, whose jawline alone could move and inspire. He felt pale next to her, a dragon dwarfed by a wolf set aflame.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked. "Why do you still don your armor? Your part in the tournament ended yesterday."

The Stark girl seemed to mull over her answer. "I was... wounded," she said hesitantly. "Not seriously," she continued quickly, upon seeing the concern in the prince's face, "but a lance nicked my side. After the disciplining of those boys was seen to, I retreated here for the seclusion- but by the time I fixed myself up, it was too late to return to the hall without drawing attention. So I kept my helm on in case anyone pursued me and stayed out here for the night. "

"Won't that draw even more skepticism, once you return?"

Lyanna shrugged. "I'll tell my brothers I slept in the godswood. They'll believe that." She walked towards the tree where her weirwood shield hung like the banner of a fort. She stooped down and retrieved a small object, throwing it at the prince without warning. He caught it gingerly and saw that it was an apple. 'She must have supped on these last night,' he thought.

"You must be hungry, chasing me about," she said. "Try it."

The girl lifted one of the apples to her lips and took a hearty bite. The sun glinted upon her then and cast shadows past her long lashes. Under the rays of the sun, the apple no longer seemed just a dull fruit with red and green patches, but rather a jeweled globe of ruby-spangled fields. The girl's face too became more regal while bathed in the light. The apple's juice dribbled down her chin, shining in a straight line past her lips like a diamond scepter.

Rhaegar watched the spectacle for a few moments and then walked to her, leading the horse behind him. The wolf maid froze.

"Are you going to try to take me to your father?" she asked with a touch of panic. "Please, your grace, Reed... the crannogman... if it was revealed that it was a woman who avenged his honor... I beg of you, let me be."

The prince looked at her in disbelief. "Are you not concerned for yourself?" he asked, astonished. "Do you know what the king might do to you if I brought you back?"

"I don't care," she spat. "I would gladly answer to the king if it didn't mean disgracing my friend." Lyanna looked hard at Rhaegar, past his sanguine dress and black armor, past the silver of his temples and straight into the purple pools of his eyes. "But you won't try to take me back to your father, will you?"

Rhaegar would not take this maiden back to his father for all the stars encrusted in the sky. The notion itself appalled him.

"No, my lady," he said quietly. "I never found the Knight of the Laughing Tree. All that remained of the mystery man was his shield, hanging from a tree."

With this, Rhaegar reached up and pulled the shield from the branch, folding it under his arm. It was all the proof he would need to verify his story.

Lyanna looked at him, her eyes molting from suspicion to hope. "Truly? You'll let me go?"

"I will," the prince replied. "If I did not, I have a suspicion that you might fight me to get away anyhow."

"Let your suspicion be certainty, because I would," the Stark girl said, although her voice was saccharine and her eyes bright. "Thank you, your grace."

"I have one condition," Rhaegar said. The wolf maid's eyes hardened back to caution.

"I would like to see you again on the morrow," he proclaimed.

At dusk, Rhaegar returned to the castle clutching the shield that Lyanna had wielded only one day before. His father was pickled with wrath, screaming in accusation at the prince and at the gods and at anything that crossed his ill mind. Rhaegar bore the brunt of his rage more graciously than before.

The memory of the Lady Lyanna, fierce and noble and true, smoldered freshly within his mind, soothing him with tenderness and a honey-sweet passion that he did not yet realize was love.


End file.
